


Second star to the right

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Character Death, Background Relationships, F/M, M/M, Space Pirates, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Jim Kirk is a notorious pirate, wanted by the Federation for all kinds of assorted crimes. When he's not busy hating himself, he hates the whole damn universe in general and a certain Admiral in particular. S'chn T'gai Spock, on the other hand, is a Captain in Starfleet, ready to resolve to nothing short of blowing up half the quadrant to catch Kirk. When they finally meet, the consequences will affect whole worlds.<br/>The universe will burn.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Second star to the right

Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the ship previously known as the _USS Midsummer_ is fucking pissed off, and rightfully so, he thinks. Fucking Vulcans. He grips the armrests of his captain's chair until his knuckles go white, then gets up to his feet and pats his helmsman's shoulder.

'Mister Sulu, switch with me,' he orders and takes the man's seat as soon as it is emptied. He promptly presses a combination of buttons to redirect the whole power from the circuits to the only engine that still works. 'Shit. Chekov, help me with navigation,' he calls to his youngest crew-member sitting to his right. 'Evade their phaser fire while I do this stuff. I think I can force this baby to go to Warp Four. Gotta be enough, right?'

'Captain, it won't work!' Sulu protests anxiously. 'The ship's going to fall apart at Warp Four. We took too much damage, the engine will overheat and explode!'

Jim nods and, without thinking, switches on the ship-wide communication. 'Attention, crew. This is your Captain, speaking straight from the highway to hell. I'm ordering full-scale evacuation, guys. No panic is allowed. Gotcha? Just move to the shuttles and flee. Reconvene in the Neutral Zone, on Hilltop IV. I'm sure you guys can make it there before those Vulcan mother fuckers get their green paws on you. Especially since I'm the one they want,' he laughs bitterly. 'Okay, time for talking is up. Shuttles will be launched in five minutes. I'm not tolerating any mutiny on my ship, so obviously nobody's even thinking about defying the evacuation order. Good luck. Kirk out.'

He starts the launch preparation sequence for the shuttles; since the ship has been in his possession for a very short time, he has to do everything manually by re-programming already pre-programmed routines; he is lucky to be a genius, really, because those Federation starships have rather bitchy safety protocols. Just as he finishes the override, the entrance door to the bridge swishes open and a heavy hand hits him on the back of the head.

'Are you out of your one-eyed mind?!' Yells Doctor McCoy, Jim's best friend (despite the appearances) that has followed him into space out of hatred against the whole universe. He barely contains his anger at the best of times. Now is not the best of times.

'It's not funny and it never has been,' Jim counters. 'Why the fuck aren't you evacuating?' He asks, trying to remain calm. His hand twitches; he adjusts his eye-patch in obvious irritation. 'Sulu, Chekov, you as well! There's no time, guys. The shuttles need to leave like, now!'

Sulu and Chekov look at each other and nod; Jim sees twin expressions of sheer determination on their faces. He curses and shakes his head.

'No, no, no, come on! You gotta go!'

'We refuse, Captain. We're not leaving you behind!' Sulu announces.

'You're fucking pirates, damn it, you're not supposed to be loyal to me at times like this!' Jim protests; McCoy hits him again. 'Fuck, this makes no sense,' Jim whines, defeated.

Something hits the ship, most probably some debris; just their luck to have chanced upon the enemy on a fucking space waste dump. As though they need any additional damage right now.

'Shields at six per cent,' Chekov reads from his console. 'The enemy is locking phasers, sir. I think they're targeting the left nacelle.'

'Shit, they know how to hit where it hurts,' Jim mutters. 'Computer! How much longer until the evacuation's complete?'

'Evacuation procedures complete. Shuttles preparing to launch in thirty seconds. Twenty nine seconds. Twenty eight seconds-'

Jim quickly punches in an override code and manually launches the shuttles, setting them to his self-programmed emergency auto-pilot for the duration of their daunting escape. Only two out of the three shuttles have working cloaking devices; the third one, however, is warp-capable. Shit, he is sad to let them go already, they are neat, just like this nice starship. But at least his crew is going to make it.

'Bones, hold on tight. Chekov, watch for the debris,' he orders, setting the only engine they had left to maximum speed. 'Warp Four, commencing,' he states and confirms the command on the console.

The stars and the Vulcan vessel become a blur as former _USS Midsummer_ leaves them behind, rushing at the top of its capacity. She is a fine ship, really. Pity the fucking Vulcans had to nearly destroy it. All of a sudden, an explosion shakes the ship and throws it out of warp. The sudden loss of speed would have sent them all flying, were they not strapped to their seats. Jim looks at his crew-mates to check for damage. They seem shaken, yes, and McCoy appears about to be sick, but otherwise, they are unhurt. They're still miraculously alive.

'Keptin, we lost the engine,' Chekov announces, worry lacing his voice. No wonder. They are left with no engines, no impulse power, and a life-support system failure. Shit, they are doomed after all.

'The Vulcans are approaching, Captain,' Sulu says, looking up from the radars straight at Jim. 'Sir, they're scanning us. They'll know the crew escaped.'

'They can go choke on a dick,' Jim decides, defiant. 'Drop the shields, Mister Sulu. Let them know this is the day they didn't catch my awesome crew.' He thinks fondly of the thirty six people of different races that agreed to serve under him, each for their own reasons; hopefully, they are now on their way to safety in three kick-ass, well-provisioned space shuttles.  _Not nearly eight hundred, maybe, huh? But still, it's gotta count as something._ 'Sulu, Chekov. Bones,' he pauses, licks his lips nervously. 'It was real fun to know you, guys. We were one hell of a pirate crew.' 

_Yeah_ , he thinks.  _This is it. But, really. Could've been worse. At least the Vulcan sons of bitches won't make it drawn out._

He closes his eye and wonders for a moment if it's going to hurt. The others probably think of the same. Or not. McCoy's hand clutches his shoulder tightly enough to bruise. They wait.

'Keptin! They're hailing us, sir,' Chekov's surprised voice breaks the silence.

Jim blinks. 'Huh? What the hell?' He asks, but obviously gets no answer. 'Okay, whatever. They probably wanna give us some final lecture about how bad we were, or something. Vulcans are so fucking proper, after all. Put them through, Chekov. On screen,' he orders.

Chekov does; immediately, a familiar Vulcan face shows up on the comm screen. Jim clenches his fists, but that is the only sign of anger he lets himself show outwardly. Inside, he's seething. God, he hates this guy. Hates him so much it should astound him, really, if he were to think about it. He doesn't. There's no reason to. Maybe he's just a hateful fucker.

'Captain Spock,' he greets in a polite tone so fake his teeth hurt. 'I didn't expect you here, Captain. Didn't think you'd be bothered to move your ass from the safety of your own planet just to chase a petty little thief like me.'

'Kirk,' the Vulcan acknowledges. His face shows disgust, or maybe it shows nothing and Jim just thinks he's seeing an emotion where there is none. 'I can see most of your crew abandoned you. It is a logical choice; few would choose to remain by the side of a criminal such as yourself,' he says conversationally. Jim bites down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from snarling. 'You will give up this vessel. A party will beam aboard to arrest you and your companions. You will be brought back to _USS Enterprise_ and held in the brig. I will personally oversee your transport to Vulcan, where you will be tried for your crimes and publicly executed.'

'Oh, a warning. Nice,' says Jim without hiding the sarcasm. 'Now, do tell: what keeps me from self-destructing the ship when you're so up close and personal with us? Maybe it wouldn't destroy you, but it'd be a pain in your ass all the same.'

'You do not have the sufficient time to override the _USS Midsummer_ 's self-destruction sequence code. Moreover, you do not have enough power; our readings suggest that the ship's warp core is damaged and leaking,' Captain Spock replies. 'If you surrender without unnecessary violence, Kirk, I will spare your companions.'

Jim's eye widens as the words sink in. 'What? Is that a deal? You're seriously offering me a deal?'

'Indeed. Come willingly, Kirk, and your companions will be free. I am offering to erase any affiliation with you and your activities from their records. They will be given what I believe is called “a fresh start”.'

'Jim, you can't seriously be considering this bullshit,' Bones snaps at him, but Jim waves his hand impatiently. Chekov and Sulu are staring at him as though he's stupid; yet, he can't help but consider the offer. This is far better than he anticipated. Fuck, he doesn't want Bones dead just for being stupidly bitter about life and following a guy who promised to deliver a few well-aimed kicks at the Federation's collective ass. Sulu is a decent man as well. Yeah, so maybe he got carried away in a bar fight on Andor and accidentally killed a few people with his mad fencing skills, but that doesn't make him any less decent, or any more deserving to die for liking Jim well enough. And Chekov, oh God, Chekov. The Russian kid is, yeah, a kid, seventeen or something like that. Jim found him in a Federation prison on Mars and got him out, because fuck this, the kid is a genius in Maths, Astrophysics and who knows what else. Not exactly pirate material, but on the other hand, he had to have done _something_ to be locked up in a separate cell on Mars.

Jim loves these guys. They are his crew, yes, yet more than that, they are his friends – his family. Bones snarks at him like a pro whenever he feels like it, but he is really a mother-hen past his difficult exterior. Sulu teaches him martial arts and regularly kicks his ass, but claims he owes him his life. Chekov is his right eye, broadening his vision when his only remaining eye is not enough to see the whole picture.

He can't let them die.

'You have a deal, Captain Spock. I surrender. Send your guys over to get me,' he says and cuts off the communication without waiting for a reply. 'Not a word,' he warns McCoy, who shuts his mouth and glares at him instead. 'Okay, guys, here's the new plan: I'm going to redirect everything this baby's got to the transporter's power supply. You go down there now. I think with what's left, I can safely send you away to Starbase Thirteen before those bastards know what's going on. They won't be looking for you when they get me, so here it is.'

'Keptin,' Chekov says, opens his mouth to protest further, but Jim shakes his head.

'No. You should have evacuated with the rest,' he says firmly. 'Mister Sulu, I'm appointing you the next captain. My previous order stands: rejoin the crew on Hilltop IV, get a ship and do whatever the hell you want.' He grins at the shocked look on Sulu's face. Then he concentrates on the console. It takes him approximately thirteen seconds to break back into the power supply manager. He still hasn't heard them leaving, though. 'Guys, I'm serious. You go now. You can come and get me later, when you have a new ship and weapons.'

At these words, understanding dawns on Sulu and Chekov's faces; convinced their captain is not committing suicide in exchange for their lives, but actually ordering them to rescue him later, they obey and leave the bridge. Bones, however, remains behind, suspicious, because he never trusts Jim when Jim is optimistic. With good reason. Jim has only ever been optimistic when he was, in fact, committing suicide.

'Go, Bones,' Jim pleads. 'Of all of them, I want you to survive the most,' he confesses.

McCoy hesitates, his features softening for a fraction of second. Then, he scowls, but he goes after Sulu and Chekov, leaving Jim alone with the console where he works on the power circuits. Completing the override, Jim makes sure to check all three of his crew-mates – his brothers – are on the transporter pad before punching in the coordinates and beaming them away, out of the Vulcans' reach.

Then, he waits.

  
  


The _USS_ _Enterprise_ is actually not a Vulcan ship. Built on Earth, one of the main planets of the Federation – Jim's home planet, in fact – the vessel carries no resemblance to the sleek, graceful Vulcan ships that cruise the universe under the pretence of bringing peace. She is big, much bigger than _USS Midsummer_ , and serves as the Federation's flagship, which means she has the best personnel of the whole Starfleet. Or something. One thing is certain: Vulcans might be a majority on board, but other Federation races are also strongly represented. Which doesn't matter at all, since Jim probably managed to piss them all off at one point. He's managed to piss off the whole Federation so much, fucking _Klingons_ consider him an ally. Probably. Some do. Mostly the ones he slept with.

Jim finds himself escorted from _USS Midsummer_ to _USS Enterprise_ by a delegation of humans: four bulky security officers, clad in their red shirts and wearing them proudly, as though they aren't all just glorified slaves to their higher-ups and the rules that bind them and keep them on short leashes. The men bring him to the brig and leave him in the small, empty cell behind the force field. They don't even talk to him. What could they say? He thinks they are garbage. They think he is garbage. Not exactly common grounds.

When they are gone, Jim touches the force field and immediately draws back his hand. The feeling is not unlike that of electric sparks running down his whole arm and it brings back really unpleasant memories. He sighs. Okay, so he won't escape easily.

He isn't sure he actually wants to run away at all.

Captain Spock comes to see him some time later. Jim can't tell exactly how long, because minutes feel like hours in the brig with nothing to do but wait; he might have fallen asleep in an uncomfortable, half-sitting position, propped against the wall, or he might have not – he isn't sure. But when he opens his eye, the Vulcan captain is standing in front of him behind the force field, looking cold, calm and calculating like all people of his race.

'Hi there,' says Jim and stifles a yawn. He is tired. The last time he really slept was... a week ago on some small planet in the Klingon space? After that, he had no chance for a true close-eye. Little naps and lots of coffee and stimulants kept him on his feet. Well. He supposes he will sleep forever soon. No need to waste the little time he still has. 'So. Feeling boastful?' He asks the Vulcan, grinning at him. It's fake, but who could tell? 'Because I would be. If I got to catch the number one wanted criminal of the Federation, I mean. Congrats, man. You're good. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'

'I find your inclination to “run your mouth” particularly interesting in these circumstances,' says Captain Spock, giving him a measuring look. 'The last time we met, you were not that talkative.'

'The last time we met, you murdered fifteen of my people,' Jim snaps. He hates losing people. It makes him remember he's never enough. Insufficient. _Irrelevant._ 'Fifteen good people, Spock, and only thing they did wrong was wish for freedom. I didn't want to talk to you then. I wanted to kill you.'

'You retaliated by killing or injuring over fifty crew members on the Ambassador's ship before you made your escape. You hardly have the right to call me a murderer, Kirk,' the Vulcan says calmly. 'I admit, despite the fact that Vulcans cherish all life, watching your execution will be unusually rewarding.'

'I bet it will be,' Jim shrugs indifferently. The idea of his own death has long since been nothing to him. He doesn't really care that much. What's there to life, anyway. 'Who knows, maybe it'll inspire someone. I may make a nice character for romantic novels. My epic martyrdom will be remembered decades from now. Young women will sigh wistfully, wishing they could have met me.'

Spock doesn't reply and Jim doesn't bother hiding another yawn. Shit, but he is sleepy. And hungry, come to think of it. He hasn't eaten properly in days, since he managed to successfully steal the _USS Midsummer_ from the orbit above a planet its crew was off on shore leave to. There was no time for food, so he drank more coffee and hoped for the best. He does not really _feel_ the hunger, not like normal people do. Not since long ago. Not since Tarsus.

'Why'd you let them go?' Jim asks, shaking his head to clear his mind of unwanted memories.

'Your so-called _crew_ is of no interest to me,' Spock says emotionlessly.

'So you're only interested in me?' Jim teases, smirking.

'Hardly,' the Vulcan replies disdainfully. Isn't disdain an emotion? Seems like someone is less stoic than he wants to appear. 'My interest is in purging the Federation space of self-absorbed criminals who believe their misguided goals to be rightful.'

'Yeah, because wanting Kodos to answer for murdering thousands of people is fucking misguided,' Jim hisses. 'Admit it, for fuck's sake: you guys want to get rid of me because I know the fucking truth.'

'Admiral Kodos is a much more reliable source of facts regarding the events on the Tarsus IV colony, Kirk. Your claims are entirely unfounded and there is nobody to back them up,' says Spock. He sounds exasperated for a reason: maybe because it isn't the first time he is telling Jim the exact same words. They kind of have _history_ together.

'Because he killed them, pointy,' Jim snaps again. 'You think what, the fact that out of the only ten survivors of the fucking massacre, just two remain still alive – that's Kodos and me – you think that's a coincidence?'

'You are delusional,' the Vulcan concludes.

'Fuck, man, he tried to gauge my eyes out when I refused to cooperate with him!' Jim yells, hands curling into fists. 'I was thirteen, for fuck's sake, and he took one eye out with a fucking tea spoon. Ten people, including him, survived his reign on Tarsus IV and what do the Federation fuckers do once they return him to Earth? They make him fucking Admiral of Starfleet!'

He wills himself to calm down, to stop talking. It doesn't matter anymore, none of it matters. The past is too painful to bring up and it causes him nothing but pain and despair when he thinks about it. Even Bones doesn't know how he lost his eye, because he doesn't _need_ to know and he doesn't really ever ask. The only person who knows everything that happened on Tarsus, besides himself, is Kodos – and that means the truth is never going to surface.

'Never mind,' Jim says softly, looking away from Spock, who still regards him calmly despite his outburst. 'Nobody believes me anyway. Man, I can't wait to get to Vulcan. At least it's warm there. Always wanted to die somewhere warm.'

'You are the most curious individual,' Spock tells him. Then, without a further notice, he turns and leaves.

Jim sits down on the floor, leans against the wall and falls asleep quickly. He dreams of exploring the vastness of space on his own starship – of a freedom he will never be able to win for himself.

  
  


When he wakes up, he blinks his eye to get rid of the remaining sleepy sluggishness. Strangely enough, he feels invigorated and comfortable; it takes him longer than normal to realize something doesn't compute: he is in a horizontal position, stretched out on something soft – a bed? - and wrapped in warm sheets, with lights completely turned off and silence meeting his ears as he listens for suspicious sounds. There are none. As far as he can tell, wherever he is, he is alone. He sighs and stares ahead into the darkness. He has no idea what is going on, which probably means nothing good. He has been raped before. It always started innocently enough.

The door swishes open and light from the corridor floods the room. Jim looks at the tall humanoid shape at the entrance and instantly recognizes Spock. He sighs again, resigned. Of course he can't be left alone. Of course the comfortable sleep had to come with an attached price tag. Of course the fucking hobgoblin – bless Bones and his epithets – has to up and spoil his blissful last moments. So typical. Welcome to the life of James Tiberius Kirk. At least rape is probably out of the question.

'I trust you are well-rested,' says the Vulcan by ways of greeting. Jim notices a food tray in his hands before he enters and the door closes behind him. 'Lights to forty per cent,' Spock commands and the room is immediately illuminated with a gentle glow. That is when Jim realizes, with a mild sense of dread nonetheless, whose quarters exactly he is in.

'Fuck,' he curses loudly, trying to dispel memories of unwanted touches, of hands and mouth on him, of helplessness and pain and humiliation. 'Why'd you keep me in your room? In your bed?'

'You slept for sixteen hours. Such an amount of time in a position of physical discomfort would have been detrimental to your overall condition,' replies Spock.

Jim stares at him. 'And that matters because?' He inquires. When he gets no answer other than a blank expression, he shakes his head. 'You're weird. Keeping me in your bed so I could comfortably rest before my public execution? Good stuff. Never pinned you for a guy of small mercies.'

'I am no such thing,' protests the Vulcan indignantly. He sets the tray from his hands on the table by the bed. It holds various foods – mostly fruit and vegetables, though – in copious amounts. Just the smell makes Jim's mouth water. Yep, that's the tell-tale sign: he is definitely hungry. 'You require sustenance. Eat,' Spock commands. 'When you are done, I will return in order to explain your perspectives to you,' he adds and leaves before Jim can say anything smart.

Well, at least there is food for him. Jim is not a person capable of justifying good food going to waste, no matter what the situation all around: another memento from a colony starving to death in the midst of a dictator's madness. So he eats and, to his surprise, he enjoys each bite. This is high-class, non-replicated stuff, certainly not what a prisoner should be fed. He doesn't have any idea what the fuck Spock is planning yet (and he definitely _is_ planning something, the cunning green-blooded bastard, although rape seems rather less probable by the second), but he has no illusions that the extra-nice treatment is anything more than a one-time-only occurrence. Shit, for all he knows, the food is poisoned. He doesn't care. He eats it anyway.

He doesn't die in painful convulsions before Spock comes back about an hour later, so he decides there is probably little to no poison involved. Also, surprisingly, none of his numerous crazy allergies are triggered by the vegetarian meal, which is really weird: it's as though the stuff he consumed is straight from Bones' _suitable-for-Jim-consumption_ -list of doom, as in, the only effect it has is to make him feel full and as happy as man could be, given his circumstances.

(He's never happy. Doesn't remember the last time he was, but if ever, it had to have been before Tarsus. Although he barely believes there ever existed a life before Tarsus. There has to have been something – a family, a mother who wasn't there for him, a brother who ran away, a step-father who liked to take out his frustration on little boys in more ways than one – but it's all a different time. A different life, and hardly a happier one.

Sure, he laughs sometimes. It's easy to hide how it doesn't reach his eyes – he's only got one of those left to look away from people he cares about, so that they keep believing he's content as they are. Bones might know. He's perceptive like that. But he won't say anything, because he knows Jim best and realizes if Jim's driven into a corner about anything, he's likely to flee. When he does flee, they'll never see him again. Maybe this is what he is doing now.)

Spock looks at him with a lifted eyebrow and Jim feels stupidly self-conscious under the calculating gaze. He knows he is not much in the department of physical appearance, especially lately; his hair grew too long and is always messy, his recently broken nose heals weird, the not-nearly-as-recent wound on his back scarred like an ugly bitch and he is malnourished. He doubts the Vulcan is prone to notice any of that, however, and even if he does, well, fuck, whatever. It doesn't matter. Spock's not here to check him out and ask him to be his prom date. No need to get nervous like a teen in front of his crush.

He is nervous, though. The memories, detached and harmless on most days, won't leave him now. He's not safe here.

'You have the most curious ability to make me feel emotion,' Spock states plainly when he apparently gets bored with silently regarding Jim as though he is some kind of luxury goods for sale. Jim's brain takes a second to catch up with the meaning behind his words and when it does, all he can do is gape at the Vulcan in silent shock, because that's the last thing he's expected.

Is this a confession? Shit, it is a confession. Of what, he isn't sure exactly, but still, it is a real big deal. A Vulcan just admitted Jim Kirk is seriously pissing him off, although not exactly in these words. This is one for the history books. Where are the chroniclers when they're needed?

'Kirk. I will tell you about the two possible outcomes of this interaction now,' Spock says. He appears calm and collected. Like he mostly does. The fact that he just admitted to having feelings when Jim is concerned seems to elude him, or something. Jim envies him the ability to hide like that, to pretend. More than he's willing to admit. 'The first possibility is the one you expect: upon arrival on Vulcan, you will immediately stand trial before the Federation Court and, without a doubt, you will be sentenced to death. Your execution will be open for the public and most likely transmitted throughout the Federation: a fitting end for a dangerous criminal,' he sounds indifferent as he says this, as though he is talking about the weather. Jim feels chills running down his spine, so he wraps the warm blanket around himself while he still has the comfort of doing so. It's not because he's going to die. It's because of the way Spock talks about it – like it's just a technicality. Like nothing in the universe will change once Jim Kirk is dead.

It rings true, too. Nothing will.

'The second prospect is one I proposed that has since been fought fiercely by a certain political faction on Terra – the one centred around Admiral Kodos, coincidentally – but to which I received the Federation Council's approval were I to carry it out. It is a simple course of action, Kirk: you will enter into a permanent bond with me and you will serve me as I see fit in exchange for your life and for Starfleet's ignorance as to the whereabouts of your highly valued crew.'

Jim freezes, his widened eye locked on Spock; seriously, he can't tear his gaze away, and no wonder: he has the only opportunity in his lifetime to see a crazy Vulcan at his craziest.

'Umm, care to repeat that, pointy? Because I could swear you said you want me to basically Vulcan-marry you,' he says when he kind of – almost – processes what he's heard. Maybe it's hallucination. Or daydream. He does that occasionally, he daydreams about stuff. Usually about sex with girls, not about male Vulcans proposing to him, but damn, this is still one hell of a daydream.

'While your wording does not exactly reflect the meaning of what I said, it is indeed how you could interpret it,' the Vulcan replies swiftly. Jim, to his surprise, notices a green tinge to his face. Shit, is the hobgoblin actually _blushing_? 'Additionally, I find it important to notify you that your incentive to use obscenities and derogatory terms is wholly unwelcome. Any such inclinations from now onwards will be punished accordingly.'

'Fuck you,' Jim replies, always up for some playing with fire.

'Unlikely,' Spock counters, unblinking.

'I'm not marrying you, just so you know,' Jim tells him firmly. This earns him a lifted eyebrow and something like a twitch at the corner of Spock's lips; it takes Jim a moment to realize the Vulcan is... amused? Yes, he is definitely showing his race's equivalent of a smile.

The green-blooded hobgoblin is fucking laughing at him.

'It's not funny, Spock. It's not!' He exclaims when the Vulcan simply continues to look at him. 'Listen, don't think you can just mock me. I'm cool with dying. Hell, I'd say it's long overdue. Should've been killed on Tarsus with the others. So don't think I'll jump at the chance to be your fucking prize wife or anything in exchange for my life. My life is hardly a bargaining chip.'

'Vulcans do not bargain,' Spock informs him calmly. 'This decision is not yours to make, Kirk.'

'… fuck you,' Jim mutters. He leans back against the bulkhead on the side of the bed, wondering what the hell he is still doing there, talking casually about marriage, bonding, whatever, to _S'chn T'gai Spock,_ of all people. A year ago, this would have been unthinkable. Even the idea would have been ridiculous.

Things certainly took a different turn from what he'd expect.

For example, when they met for the first time, Jim had had the upper hand. It happened, quite ironically, on _Vulcan_ , where Jim had been learning all about Vulcan ladies having no emotions, but possessing plenty of physical passion indeed. He was also there because it was obviously the best place to hide from the fucking Vulcan inquisition or whatever their particular branch of Starfleet was called; they expected him to hide in the furthest corner of the universe, so he tricked them by taking cover on their grounds.

Between Lady T'Pring's shapely legs, most of the time.

It would have all gone splendidly – he had his eye on a nice, fast ship that could transport him off-planet at the nearest occasion. Unfortunately, the lovely Lady T'Pring quite illogically concluded that she was going with Jim and, to make it official, she called for a dissolution of the betrothal bond she shared with her very logical Vulcan fiancée. It didn't go over too well.

Maybe Jim shouldn't have lied that he was a well-renowned Starfleet captain, although that was actually partially true: he was a captain and he was well known in Starfleet alright. For being a pirate. A dangerous and evasive pirate. On the other hand, T'Pring could have told him that her fiancée was the captain of the Federation's flagship, the Enterprise, and also the man assigned to lead the manhunt for a James Tiberius Kirk, class A criminal: S'chn T'gai Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda, _one of the_ _most influential and powerful people in the Federation_.

He learned that alright when said fiancée strongly objected to his betrothed woman eloping with a wanted criminal. Thankfully, Jim was always prepared for trouble back then: a phaser in each hand, one pointed at T'Pring's head and the other at Spock as the three of them had a staring contest in the middle of T'Pring's living quarters, served as great leverage to aid his very brave, very _naked_ escape.

Shit, but the guys love that story.

'How's T'Pring?' Jim asks, for no reason other than to irritate Spock. In some twisted way, he feels good: well-rested, fed full of delicious stuff, warm and comfy. Even the conversation with Spock isn't that bad: it somewhat reminds him of the playful banter he often has with Bones, only with much more real irritation and much less sass – not for lack of trying on his part, though.

'I do not know,' Spock replies, unfazed by the taunt. 'I have not seen her nor heard from her since we came to a mutual understanding to dissolve our bond.'

'Uh... sorry about that?' Jim lies. He is not sorry in the least. In fact, he doesn't care one way or another. He knows Spock knows this. 'Although, you see, I kinda did you a favour. If she decided I of all people was good enough to leave you for, I'd hate to think how fast she'd drop your ass for somebody really worthy.'

Spock says nothing to that. Instead, he regards Jim coolly, as though he is assessing him, cataloguing the things he learned about him into neat little folders in his mind for later inspection. It is disconcerting, really, to be looked upon like that; as though he is some kind of goods up for sale and Spock is considering his options before deciding on a purchase. Thing is, Jim has been in such a situation before, too. Of course, he was fourteen and freshly out of Tarsus IV back then, but still – not the nicest memory.

(He briefly wonders if he has any nice memories from his childhood and teenage years. Damn. He doesn't think there are any. If there ever happened something good – maybe when Winona was still alive and on planet? - he really doesn't remember.)

'I was not aware that you of all people had self-confidence issues,' Spock informs him. He appears curious if not surprised – as though he has just discovered a new element of a puzzle that doesn't quite seem to fit into the whole picture.

'That's because you obviously don't know me at all,' Jim says pleasantly, with a calm he does not feel. He kinda wants to punch Spock in the face. It's nothing new. Spock deserves it. 'Why don't we drop the subject and just, you know. Stop pretending that this is anything but a pirate and a lawful man – Vulcan, whatever – chatting about stuff before the pirate is sentenced to death. Because, let's face it, Mister Spock: you really don't want me. Not like that, not forever,' he smiles bitterly. How is this his life? It's ridiculous. 'I'm damaged goods. Might seem pretty enough from the outside, despite the eye-patch, but inside? I'm broken beyond anything you've ever seen. You don't want me,' he repeats and sits back, leaning against the wall. He thinks of all the times he tried to kill himself. He thinks of the one time he nearly succeeded. He also thinks of now.

'You do not know Vulcans – or, indeed, myself – as well as you think you do, Mister Kirk,' Spock concludes. 'Rest now. Estimated time of arrival on Vulcan is seventy seven point four hours. A decision will be made during that time regarding your future. Do not concern yourself with it until such time comes that I consider it wise to inform you.'

Then, Jim finds himself left alone again for the next twelve hours, during which he mostly sleeps, is bored and thinks unhappy thoughts. After that time, a Security officer in a red shirt comes by and informs him the decision has been made: he is to be transported to Vulcan for public execution.

Spock doesn't return. If Jim is disappointed, if he's sad or lonely, he doesn't acknowledge it even to himself.

  
  


Vulcan is exactly as Jim remembers it: dry, red and hot, totally unbearable for living, sentient beings but somehow perfect for the green-blooded hobgoblins with their pointy ears and haughty expressions. Jim steps down from the shuttle onto the sandy soil and instantly narrows his eye against the onslaught of too-bright, too-red light. He would turn back and escape to the shuttle to protect himself from the heat, but for the tip of the phaser pressed against his back by the Security guy – the same one that informed him of his fate some two days prior (Jim dubbed him Cupcake). So he walks forward, instead, frowning at the handcuffs that irritatingly chaff his already sweaty skin and rattle as he moves.

In normal circumstances, he knows, a convict would be transported straight to a holding cell to await execution or, oftentimes, an appellation – the Federation rarely actually carries out death sentences anymore, choosing instead to change them to banishment to far off colonies if anyone as much as lifts a finger in defence of the convict. This time is different, however: this is about _the_ Jim Kirk. The guy who doesn't even deserve a fair trial, apparently: they sentenced him when he was still on the Enterprise, without ever asking for his side of the story. So, yeah, the circumstances now are far from normal. Jim supposes is being led directly to the _execution chamber_ , where he knows hundreds of people will be able to watch him die – and thousands more will watch the live feed on every news channel.

'I'm kinda famous, am I not, Cupcake?' He tells the Security guy with a grin that hopefully looks less fake and forced than it feels. 'There's gotta be reporters here from all over the Federation.'

Cupcake doesn't reply, but it's okay – Jim never expected him to, anyway. He only talks because it helps take his mind off of things. He's – scared, of death, of pain, of a public execution he knows nothing about but will experience in mere minutes. He doesn't even know how they are going to kill him. It's Vulcan, so the method will be quick and painless, probably – he can't see how the pointy-eared hobgoblins would consider needless suffering of a sentient being, even a convict, logical, and truthfully, this is his only hope.

Because otherwise, he's at the mercy of Admiral Kodos and he knows if that's the case, he will be tormented until he begs for death. He still remembers the terrible feeling of the blunt-edged tea spoon being inserted into his eye socket, of the nerves and vein of his eyeball being severed from the tissue as the eye was removed, so thoroughly, so agonizingly slowly. Sometimes, it still hurts. When he wakes up from a nightmare of the event... with a bitter chuckle, he acknowledges that at least now, when he finally dies, the nightmares, all of them, will stop.

He isn't being led straight into the execution arena. Instead, Cupcake pushes him into a large, official-looking building. Jim thinks back to his previous stay on Vulcan and remembers – this is the Federation Embassy in Shi'Kahr. He has no idea why he's brought here.

'You're so lucky to have us,' he hears the words, recognizes the joking tone, before he sees the speaker. Gary looks at him, more worried than amused, whole and safe. As safe as a pirate who's not Jim Kirk can be on Vulcan, at least. 'If not for Mister Hendorff here, you'd be off to the arena by now. You'd better thank him properly when we're back on the ship, Captain.'

'What ship?' Jim asks, too dumb-struck to ask the rational questions, which in this situation would be, _what are you doing here_ or _how did you find me_.

'Our new ship,' Gary replies patiently, as though he is explaining something to a child. 'The Enterprise. Pretty ship. Sulu and Chekov say they can drive her and I'm pretty sure they tell the truth. McCoy is ready to patch you up if you need. He's enamoured with his new Sickbay. Also, you never told me you had friends on Vulcan.'

Jim blinks at that. Does he have friends on Vulcan? 'Do I have friends on Vulcan?' He asks sheepishly.

Gary huffs. 'Of course you do,' he says enigmatically and doesn't elaborate. Instead, he looks pointedly at Cupcake – Hendorff, his name is Hendorff – and the security officer shrugs.

'Captain Spock has the key,' he announces.

Gary curses in Klingon – he does that when he's mildly irritated, and it makes Jim think that if Gary believes _this_ to be a small inconvenience, they're probably screwed. He doesn't say it out loud, though. He doesn't say anything, just lets his eye widen when he sees the two females that emerge from the adjacent room. One of them is Human; Jim doesn't know her, but she seems somewhat familiar, especially her warm, dark eyes.

The other is T'Pring.

'We will go now,' she informs the party, not pausing to greet Jim, acting as though he didn't exist. 'Stonn has created a suitable diversion. We have approximately five point seventeen minutes to complete the task at hand.'

Gary nods at her and, like that, they are on the go.

T'Pring leads them through the district's narrow back alleys, unfaltering and graceful. Gary and Jim are close behind, then the Human woman. Hendorff is last, vigilant as he protects their backs. It's weird. It's all wrong. Jim's hands dangle awkwardly in front of him, the chain from the handcuffs clanking noisily as he moves; the Vulcan heat is uncomfortable and the hard, dry ground beneath his feet erupts in explosions of dust with every hasty step, making him cough and sneeze twice, and his eye waters, but he can't even rub at it pathetically because of the shackles. He doesn't know who Stonn is, but the diversion created by that guy must be epic, for nobody as much as looks at them as they make their way to the shuttlebay.

They get there in record time and nobody bothers them on the way. Jim looks around and sees a familiar shuttle docked nearby, engines already running as though it's ready to launch at any time – one of his, one of the three he sent his crew away in. Predictably, that's the shuttle T'Pring is heading towards. Only now does Jim notice that she is dressed very casually for her: whereas normally, she used to wear flowing robes and elegant, if impractical gowns, she seems to have given them up in favour of a male regulation Starfleet pants and black shirt. She walks into the shuttle as though it's her property.

The Human woman stays behind. She smiles when Jim looks her way in silent question.

'George and Winona were my friends,' she explains. 'I would dishonour their memory and do a disservice to my own son if I refused to help you,' she adds mysteriously, puzzling Jim even further. But he has no time to ask her to elaborate before Gary ushers him inside the shuttle, all but pushing him to hurry.

He swears he hears Hendorff talking to the woman, telling her something along the lines of, _Thank you, Lady Amanda_ , and she replies with _Live long and prosper, my friends_. But then, it might have been his imagination – because the next thing he knows, the shuttle is taking off.

'You look malnourished,' is the first thing T'Pring says to Jim as she looks him over. Jim fights the urge to roll his eyes. Vulcans are always direct, he knows. Still, it wouldn't kill them to learn some tact. 'Has Spock been mistreating you while you were in his care?' She asks and this, this is confusing. Care? Is that what being a prisoner amounts to for Vulcans?

'Uh... Not really... Barely even seen him at all. We didn't interact much,' Jim replies, at least partially truthful.

T'Pring regards him coolly. There is no trace of the past affection for him left in her demeanour. Or he just grew too unaccustomed to recognize it anymore. But damn, is she beautiful. He wonders if it's a Vulcan genetic trait or something. She's almost as beautiful as Spock.

Wait, wait. What?

'This is illogical,' T'Pring says. 'Spock implied that you are his _t'hy'la_. Is that not true?'

'Why don't you guys figure out the details later? Preferably when we're all safe on the Enterprise, in some galaxy far, far away,' Gary suggests. He grins when Jim turns to him. 'You don't even know how much you were missed, Captain. Chekov actually cried himself to sleep every night since you got yourself caught. He thought it was his fault the universe is out to get you.'

'Shut up, it's not,' Jim protests weakly. He kind of can't believe that he might not die today, after all. The fact that he doesn't really know what's going on isn't helping. He hates not knowing the full picture when he's in dangerous situations. If he doesn't know the full picture, he can't protect his crew from unpredictable risks.

'Oh yes, it is,' Hendorff supplies. 'At least Starfleet is. Admiral Kodos is gonna flip out when he notices he's been had.'

Jim snorts. 'That bastard can bite it. One day, I'll be the one who ends him, not the other way around.' He doesn't believe a single word that falls out of his mouth. It doesn't matter; Gary and Hendorff laugh heartily and clearly think he's speaking his mind while, in fact, he's lying. He's so used to lying about himself, about what he feels and what he wants, he supposes he has become really good at it.

If T'Pring can see right through him, she doesn't let it show.

It will forever remain a mystery how they managed to reach the Enterprise undetected. Before they know it, however, they are on board and Jim is greeted by a bear hug Bones pulls him into. He awkwardly pats his best friend's shoulder, startled by the display of affection, because usually, Bones' idea of _affection_ orbits around random insults and heavily-accented grumbling. Sometimes, violent use of antihistamine hypos is added to the mix. Hugs, not so much.

'I'm fine, Bones,' he says softly when it's been a few minutes and McCoy still doesn't let go. Finally, the man moves away, but his eyes are suspiciously glassy. Jim pretends not to notice. Pretends he isn't touched by the sentiment, when in reality, he finds it hard to believe that anybody really cares about him enough to get emotional over his well-being.

'Fine, my ass,' Bones grumbles. 'You look like death warmed over. Has he been feeding you right?'

'Eh? Who?' Asks Jim and lets himself be led to the bridge.

The Enterprise is an amazing ship. She's the first Constitution-class Starship and the flagship of the Federation, and as such, she is clearly the best Starfleet has to offer: high-tech navigation systems, new weaponry including photon torpedoes, improved deflector shields, multiple levels of warp speed and even the top-secret cloaking technology that's supposedly so much better than the one the Romulans have developed recently (and Jim has stolen almost as soon as he found out about its existence). Jim knows all this because he's been watching USS Enterprise from the moment she was launched on her maiden voyage. This ship only had one purpose, right from the beginning: to capture James Tiberius Kirk, no matter which corner of the universe he tried to hide in. It finally succeeded. Now, though, it's his. His crew has somehow obtained it for him.

'The hobgoblin, kid, who else?' Bones asks, sarcasm back in place as he rolls his eyes.

'I demand that you refrain from using derogatory terms referring to my species while you are on board of this vessel which is still under my command,' says the familiar neutral voice from the captain's chair and Jim stares in shock at Captain Spock who stands up calmly and inclines his head at the newcomers.

'Yeah, I sure ain't taking orders from you, pointy-eared as you are,' Bones informs the Vulcan and he's almost gleeful, considering. Jim can see a budding friendship there. Others probably see war.

'What?' He wants to know, but the words don't come out. He looks around, notices Sulu and Chekov by the consoles; they grin at him as they meet his eye. The communications station is manned by Uhura, and he's actually surprised, because he thought she wanted nothing to do with him and his crew after a particularly messy shore leave a few months back; apparently, someone convinced her to come back within those few days of Jim's captivity. She's striking, as always. Jim knows she's going to have _words_ with him later. He'd be scared if he weren't mainly very confused.

He doesn't recognize a few people present on the bridge and he supposes they are the Enterprise's original crew. It's not surprising that none of them are Vulcans, Vulcans aren't nearly rebellious enough to go helping convicted criminals escape their death sentences. Oh, wait.

'Captain, your orders?' Gary demands as he takes his place at the consoles between Chekov and Sulu. It's clear he's not talking to Spock.

'Uh... take her out,' Jim says and glances at T'Pring, who nods in approval. 'To... to the Neutral Zone. Go where they can't follow, before they realize we're gone,' he continues, somewhat more confidently. He hears a set of confirmations and releases a breath he didn't realise he's been holding. He's still alive. He's still the captain. He still has his crew. And it still doesn't matter, but for now, he can pretend some more.

Spock looks at him calmly as the ship takes off and enters warp. For a while, neither says a word. Then, inconspicuously, Spock indicates the captain's chair, as though he wishes for Jim to take it. It's unexpected, but Jim doesn't get a chance to ask for his reasons because Spock immediately moves to the science station and takes a seat there, like it's his place. It's not. But Jim doesn't argue. He's got no time for that.

He takes the chair and marvels at the weird feeling of _rightness_ as he leans comfortably against the armrests. Then, he allows himself to think, to consider their situation and the options they have. First of all, he realises, they have no options at all. Soon, Jim's notable absence at his own execution site will be, well, noted, and hell is going to break loose. It won't take long before they find out the Enterprise is missing. They'll also notice the two missing Vulcans, as well as a significant part of the ship's crew. Either they're going to assume Jim has somehow managed to commandeer a fully-manned ship on his lonesome, or they'll come to the correct conclusion that someone must have deflected. Now, what they will do with their guesses is another matter altogether. He just hopes the Human woman back on the planet isn't in trouble because of him.

Who was she, by the way?

The first opportunity for Jim to find out what the hell is happening all around him arises approximately eight hours later, soon after his self-imposed shift of bridge duty draws to an end. He's sleepy, but he's much too excited and anxious to sleep, he just knows he won't fall asleep – so he saunters over to Bones' brand new Sickbay instead, and finds his friend, indeed, in the unexpected company of a Vulcan.

'Didn't know you're all buddy-buddy with her,' Jim says after T'Pring looks up at him, narrows her eyes, offers a polite, stiff bow and leaves ever so gracefully.

Bones glares at him. Or at the door. The angle is awkward and Jim can't really tell. 'Didn't know that either,' the doctor informs him icily and, okay, this is hilarious.

'Say, Bones,' Jim begins conversationally, seating himself comfortably on an empty bio-bed. He's so tired at the moment, he imagines sleeping on this and can't for the life of him remember why he hates the darn things so much. His butt, for once, is comfy. 'You do realize holding hands is, like, the Vulcan equivalent of making out, right?' He asks with a grin. He thoroughly enjoys the incredulous expression on Bones' face. It's worth all the punishments he will have to suffer through later, for sure.

'So that's what she was so smug about,' Bones grumbles darkly. Jim can swear that the good doctor is blushing. 'Doesn't matter. You!'

'Eh? Me?' Jim asks, momentarily cowering under the icy glare of his best – and coincidentally, also most dangerous – friend.

'The stunt you pulled! You see these grey hairs on my head, kid? You see them? Your fault, every single one of them. I thought you were done for and what were you doing all this goddamn time? Frolicking about with a fucking Vulcan!'

'Wha-? Me?' Jim asks and pretends his voice isn't as high-pitched as it is.

'Yes, you! Or did you think I somehow wouldn't find out about your epic love story with the green-blooded, hobgoblin-y commander, huh? Think again!' Bones barks, thoroughly offended from the looks he is throwing Jim.

Honestly, Jim wants to know what the fuck this is all about, because if that's the kind of rumour that is circulating about his crew, he seriously needs to shut it down before Spock catches wind of it. It's so ridiculous, but the damn Vulcan might think it originates from Jim somehow and, well, that wouldn't be good. Also, he doubts it does much for his reputation. He actually wonders how he is supposed to inspire any respect around here if people really think he gets it on with Spock.

But damn, he wouldn't hate the rumour half as much if it were true. Spock is one fine specimen of Vulcan male. Finer still now that he's somewhat on Jim's side, or at least not actively trying to hunt him down and get him executed. Jim can admit, if only to himself, that he wouldn't mind some of that alleged frolicking at all.

Still.

'Have you been drinking too much, Bones? Because that's the only explanation for you believing this kind of crappy unrealistic gossip,' he states reasonably. Yes, he can be reasonable when he needs to. Like now. He needs to be reasonable now because otherwise the absurdity of his plight will make him go crazy. He's too young to go crazy. And he still has to kill Kodos sometime, now that he's a free man again for the time being. Can't do that when crazy. He knows, he tried.

'Kid, you don't have to hide it from me. I thought we were friends,' Bones says. The accusation clear in his tone both confuses and pains Jim. It probably shows on his face – he's pretty transparent on the best of days – and Bones narrows his eyes. 'He told us, okay? Your hobgoblin husband or whatever. He told Gary, Sulu, Chekov, Gaila, Uhura and me. I get that you don't want to announce it to the world, God knows I wouldn't if I got hitched with a green-blooded iceberg, but you don't have to pretend in front of me. I'm a doctor, not a preacher, I'm not gonna criticize you or anything.'

Jim is pretty sure by now that this is some kind of a big cosmic joke. There's literally no way this is happening to him. He's just a space pirate with a particularly troubled past and an especially uncertain future. All he wants is five freaking minutes of peace. Apparently, that's too much.

He doesn't even say a thing to Bones before stomping off from the Sickbay like an angry kid with temper issues that the good doctor frequently accuses him of being. He knows where he needs to go and he heads there without hesitation. Spock, predictably, is right where Jim left him: on the bridge, manning the damn science station in his damn blue science division uniform and pretending he isn't actually in charge of the whole damn ship. His reaction to Jim's rather dramatic entrance is an inquiring, lifted eyebrow. He's not even surprised as he asks,

'Are you in need of assistance, Captain?' - and Jim wants to kick him on the head or kiss him on the mouth. He can't decide which. Both options sound exhilarating. And dangerous. Vulcans are three times as strong as Humans. T'Pring, who always told Jim how she's weak in comparison to many of her species, could push Jim down and hold him still with one hand no matter how hard he struggled. Jim doesn't want to think about the things Spock could do to him with that strength. At least not right now, on the bridge, with his crew watching like gossip-hungry vultures.

'Yes. We need to talk. _Now_ ,' he says, trying to sound perfectly self-confident and captain-ly, instead of nervous as fuck. Then he remembers he has basically become a teenager with a crush over the last few days, which makes about as much sense as storms in space and homicidal maniacs becoming Starfleet Admirals, but unfortunately has just as big a probability of happening because the universe is a cruel place that hates a certain Jim Kirk very much.

Spock follows him to the first empty room he finds, which turns out to be a small conference room where debriefings are held when necessary. Once there, Jim already has a whole speech prepared to verbally abuse the Vulcan into next week or further and he takes a deep breath to rid himself of the nerves and begin the epic scoldfest – but Spock says,

'Jim,' and his name on Spock's lips is enough to make him forget what exactly is the problem. It's disquieting, the softness and warmth so discernible in his voice, as though he really cares, as though-

'You don't get to call me that,' Jim protests, talking as much to himself as to Spock. 'You are not my friend, are you, Spock? What do you want from me?'

'For now, it is enough if you are brought to relative safety,' the Vulcan replies, still in that unfamiliar, almost _caring_ tone. 'When you are no longer in imminent danger of execution, I shall elaborate on an appropriate answer to your question. As to the former inquiry, _Jim_ : I certainly am what you may perceive as a “friend”, although I do not consider you as such in regards to myself.'

'Awesome,' Jim says, mildly disappointed.

Shit, though. He's starring in a romantic comedy all of a sudden.

'You must wonder why I decided not to let you die,' Spock continues, as though he didn't hear Jim's words. This, admittedly, caught Jim's attention pretty effectively. 'There are multiple reasons that I had to take into consideration in order to draw a final conclusion. Firstly, I admit that I do not agree with the principle of executions in general. This concept has been foreign to Vulcans since the transgression and is not met with enthusiasm on my planet as a rule. Secondly, I was unaware prior to our arrival on Vulcan what means of ending your life would be used. I learned as soon as we landed that the chosen method was... less than appropriate. Inhumane, as your people may say. I did not wish to see you subjected to such unnecessary cruelty in your final moments-'

'Wait, wait,' Jim interrupts him, intrigued and horrified at the same time. 'What did they want to do to me?'

'According to what my father relied to me, you were to be burned alive in front of thousands of spectators,' Spock tells him.

Jim feels nauseous as he remembers the stench of burning corpses and the shrill scream of an unfortunate victim who had not been dead enough before the pyre was lit. He tries to stop his hands from shaking, but it doesn't work out all that well.

'I will not allow you to meet such a fate,' Spock informs him when the silence stretches on for much too long. Jim looks up at the Vulcan, trying to pretend he doesn't need reassurance, trying to play it tough, as though he's not even vaguely terrified of the fate Kodos – and all those people who'd gladly watch him burn to death – wished upon him.

'You, uh. Said you had many reasons. These are just two,' Jim says, changing the subject ever so slightly. He doesn't think he can stomach another second of imagining the heat, the pain, the loud cheers as he dies in torment. No. Just... no.

'Yes,' Spock admits. 'The truth is, I had no intention, at the beginning of this conversation, to reveal my true motives to you,' he adds, somewhat hesitantly. Hitting him rapidly becomes a very tempting prospect. 'Yet, I find myself unable to hide that truth any longer,' he concludes and all of a sudden, Jim finds himself pushed roughly up against the wall, wrists trapped in the hold of the Vulcan's hand.

Jim's single eye widens and he almost panics when Spock's other hand touches the right side of his face, nimble, cool fingers tracing the line of his jaw and moving higher, reaching the eye-patch. They don't stop there; Spock pauses only for a fraction of a second before removing the piece of synthetic leather, revealing the artificial eyeball underneath. Jim knows it looks disgusting: a semi-transparent, white orb that is only there to fill the gaping hole where his right eye used to be.

'You hide it,' Spock says softly, 'because it serves you no purpose.'

'When people see it, they start asking questions,' Jim replies in a whisper, turning his head so that he doesn't have to look at the Vulcan. The hand on his face twitches. 'They want to know why. Who did this to me. Did it hurt. Was it long ago. But I can't answer, there's no correct answer. If I tell them the truth, they don't believe me. You didn't.'

'I was wrong,' Spock states. 'I believe you now.'

It's too late, Jim wants to say. It's always been too late. It makes no difference if he's believed or not. He's a space pirate, running away from death yet again on a stolen starship. His adversary is a Starfleet Admiral who won't stop, won't hesitate until Jim pays for the crime of having survived the massacre of his making.

_Just, stop_ , Jim wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, 'Just, kiss me,' and Spock does.

  
  


TBC  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> The final chapter should be up within two weeks. It's hard to write two fandoms (six stories at the same time!) between sitting at work all the time. It helps that both my fandoms feature blue-eyed people with lots of issues.  
> I hope the story is interesting (and painful) enough!


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